The Executioner's Rebellion (The Executioner's Song Book 4) Page 9

  Each time it rang, there came another jolt from some place deep within him.

  Finn had been around magic enough times over the last few years to have a passing familiarity with it. Not only hegen magic, but now witchcraft—and even Alainsith magic, though that was something he didn’t have quite as much experience with.

  The door to the church opened. A dark-robed priest stepped forward. Finn recognized the robes, as the priests were common enough in Verendal, even if he’d never celebrated at one of their churches. One of the priests of Fell. Was Heleth not celebrated here anymore?

  The priest frowned as he took a look at Finn. He was thin, his wiry frame hidden by his robe, and had close-cropped brown hair, leaving him with an almost angry appearance. He studied Finn for a moment, then the parishioners started to pour out of the church, making their way quickly beyond, out into the streets, dispersing back to houses, businesses, and their evening activities.

  He made his way over to the priest, tipping his head politely. If he was a priest of Fell, Finn needed to be respectful, even if he didn’t celebrate Fell.

  “My name is Finn Jagger, and I am—”

  “I am aware of who you are, Mr. Jagger. We had word that you would be coming.”

  Finn looked around the village, his gaze settling on one person then another, before turning his attention back to the priest. “Are you my contact here?”

  “The village of Weverth is a faithful servant of Fell,” the priest said.

  Finn smiled tightly, squeezing the reins of the horse. “And what does it mean to be a faithful servant of Fell?”

  The priest tipped his head to the side, frowning at Finn. “I would have figured that an executioner, especially one from the city of Verendal, would be familiar with the expectations of Fell.”

  Finn shrugged. “I serve the king, not the church.”

  “And the king serves the church,” the priest said.

  Finn glanced over to the church. “Does this church still celebrate Heleth?”

  Finn had given some thought to Fell over the years, but he was an unusual god, and one whom he had struggled with while in Verendal. Presumably, he was the god of wealth and abundance, which might be the reason that the people of this village celebrated him. He could see a desire to celebrate the harvest by honoring Fell.

  Part of it bothered him though.

  “Heleth and Fell both lead toward the same purpose,” the priest said. “And the people within the village of Weverth recognize that. They recognize how they must serve all the gods.”

  He would never have imagined that anyone would describe the church of Fell as being somehow correlated with that of Heleth. Heleth was the mother who oversaw everything within the church. It would be unusual for anyone to make that claim, though Finn hadn’t spent much time with any priests of Fell.

  “Perhaps if you have not had a chance to fully understand the way that we all serve Fell, you and I should spend some time together,” the priest continued.

  Within Verendal, an invitation to celebrate Fell was rare. They wanted only the wealthy, and Finn was far from wealthy.

  “Perhaps when my assignment here is complete.”

  “You might find you need to visit Fell in order for you to understand what is asked of you here.”

  “I didn’t realize I would need to coordinate with any of the priests to accomplish my task,” Finn said.

  “Certainly not to accomplish it, but you must understand you have quite an interesting position to those within Weverth,” he said.

  Finn wasn’t about to argue with a priest, especially one who he didn’t fully understand; he hadn’t come here to get into a religious debate.

  “Who do I speak to about my fee?”

  The priest frowned, and for a moment, Finn wondered if he’d guessed wrong about him. Maybe he wasn’t the one to ask.

  “You serve the king.”

  “In Verendal. My standard rate is five drebs plus housing for the night.”

  He’d learned to ask for room to be included; otherwise, he ended up paying for it.

  The priest was silent.

  “I will take your silence as an agreement to my terms. I would like to see the accused, if I may.”

  “Accused? I’m afraid, Mr. Jagger, that you were summoned here because he is the condemned.”

  Finn nodded. “I understand, but I question everyone who calls one of my guild to the city. We must ensure we satisfy the king’s justice and not merely the whims of those in the city.”

  “I see,” the priest said.

  “Do you?” Finn asked, arching a brow. “Because it is important that you understand I am here to serve on behalf of King Porman.”

  “Yes,” the priest said. “I do see that, and I understand your predicament.”

  Finn just chuckled softly. “It’s no predicament. I am here to ensure I’m meeting the obligations of the king. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to visit with your accused.” He made a point of emphasizing that word, and earned another hard look from the priest of Fell, who motioned for Finn to follow.

  He headed through the village, leading him along the road. He hadn’t even offered to take Finn’s horse, nor had he offered to see if Finn had any needs.

  “Is there a village council?” Finn asked.

  The priest glanced over to him, shaking his head. “Not for many years, I’m afraid.”

  “No elders?”

  The priest shook his head again.

  Finn frowned again. “Then the church leads here?”

  “Why, the church leads everywhere, Finn Jagger.”

  The priest continued leading him along the street and Finn followed. They reached a place near the back of the village, and from there, Finn noticed a row of small houses that were different from many of the others—smaller than those he’d found on the outskirts of the city, mostly a single story, and though they were made of wood, they looked to be more hurriedly built and somehow stouter. It was strange.

  “We don't have any of the prisons you have in Verendal. We use what we have, and the people are understanding. It is as Fell has commanded.”

  The priest guided him toward one of the houses. It was small, all wooden, with a thatched roof. The priest pulled a keychain out of his pocket, turned the key in the handle, and pulled the door open. Darkness seemed to stream out, almost as if it were a thing alive.

  Finn looked over to the priest. “What is his name?”

  “We would have included that in the summons, Mr. Jagger.”

  “Master Meyer told me only the village, not his name.” The priest tensed slightly at the mention of Meyer.

  “His name is Lyle Martin. A blasphemer if I have ever seen one before.”

  “That is his crime?”

  The priest looked over to Finn and shot him an unreadable look. “If his only crime was blaspheming against Fell, then you would not have been summoned here, Mr. Jagger. The church can handle blasphemers. This, unfortunately, is something else. He serves a darkness, and he has foul urges he found himself succumbing to.”

  “What urges are those?” Finn asked, a feeling of dread starting to build within him.

  “Why, he desecrated the dead.”

  Finn waited for the priest to expand on that, but he did not.

  Finn stepped inside the room. It stank of the smell he had detected when he had first come to the village. Maybe it was tied to what this Lyle Martin had been doing with the dead.

  “I would like a lantern,” Finn said.

  “Is that necessary?” the priest asked.

  “I need to question him.”

  “I’m afraid that questioning him is not needed. As I told you—”

  “And I told you that I am here serving the king’s justice. The king demands that all in my role would look into the claims against the accused. In this case, I must ensure your accusations are founded, and then…”

  He had no idea what the priest meant by Lyle Martin desecrating the dead, but consid
ering some of the things Finn had seen over the years, he had far too many ideas of what Lyle might have done, and it left him unsettled.

  He had no interest in learning more about it, but he had to. For him to know everything he needed to do, and for him to know the details of what this man was accused of, Finn wasn’t sure that he had much choice but to question him thoroughly.

  “I will send someone with a lantern for you, Mr. Jagger.”

  He stepped away, closing the door, and sealed Finn in the darkness.

  He tensed, looking around the room, waiting for his eyes to adjust, but they didn’t.

  Then the sound of scraping movement came scurrying toward him.

  Chapter Eight

  Finn braced himself for an attack.

  As the movement came toward him, all of a sudden there was a jerk of metal, the sound of chains clanging, and a grunt.

  They hadn’t left him here untethered.

  Finn breathed out a sigh of relief and cursed himself. For a moment, he’d thought the priest had wanted him placed in danger. It was foolish feeling nervous here, but at the same time, there was something unpleasant about this village.

  He should take the priest up on the offer of spending time with him. He did want to know more about the church of Fell.

  “Lyle Martin?”

  His eyes had started to adjust to the darkness.

  There was a dark shadow in the room and the air had a foulness to it. More than urine and feces, it was the stench he knew from his time in the prisons—something rotting, as if the man himself were decaying.

  “My name is Finn Jagger. I’m the king’s executioner. I’m here to question you.”

  There was another jerk on the chains, a rattling that came from farther away in the darkness. While he couldn’t see much, Finn felt the sound. It was unpleasant, and it left him worried about what this man might do. He was careful not to react too much.

  “I need you to tell me what you are responsible for having done.”

  He wished the priest would’ve shared a little bit more with him.

  “Unfortunately, if you don't speak on your own behalf, I will have to take the word of the priest—”

  There was a louder rattle this time, the sound of chains jerking and clanking mixed with something else.

  Something feral.

  Perhaps this was a mistake, pushing in here without knowing quite what he was doing.

  “If your name is Lyle Martin, I need for you to step forward.”

  Finn tensed. Waiting.

  “It's my understanding that you are accused of desecrating the dead.”

  “No desecration,” a harsh voice said from the darkness, far closer to Finn than he had expected.

  “If you didn’t desecrate the dead, then why have they accused you of it?”

  “No desecration.”

  Finn glanced back at the door.

  That harsh voice, the animal-like growl, and the possibility that this man was involved in witchcraft all made Finn wonder whether he would be able to break free of the chains.

  “All I’m trying to understand is what you were accused of doing. If you can share that with me, then we can work together, and—”

  “No desecration,” he said yet again.

  “Then what did you do?”

  “Cleanse,” he said, his voice low, as if it had been burned.

  “How did you cleanse them?” Finn asked.

  “Cleanse,” he said again.

  Finn shivered.

  He knew he shouldn’t be bothered by this, but there was something strange and terrifying about this man.

  Finn suspected that the priest knew more than he was letting on. He had intentionally left him here in the dark, either to scare him or to coax him into reacting in a specific way. If the priest had an agenda, then Finn was obligated to understand what that was, as well.

  It wouldn’t be the first time he’d found that people in a village had an agenda. He had never found any priests involved in things like that, though.

  “Why did you have to cleanse them?” Finn asked carefully.

  “They have been tainted,” he said.

  “How are they tainted?” Finn asked.

  “Tainted.”

  Finn shook his head. He wasn’t going to get anywhere like this.

  “I’m afraid that if you can’t reveal anything more, then the testimony of the others will weigh more heavily. Unfortunately, given the accusation against you, I would have no choice but to exert the king’s justice.”

  He didn’t even know what sentence would be appropriate in this case.

  “I would like you to come as far forward as you can. Slowly, but enough for me to see you.”

  Finn turned to the door and thrust it open, letting a bit of daylight spill in. He was thankful the priest of Fell hadn’t locked him in here, though he wouldn’t have been terribly surprised to learn he had.

  “Come forward,” Finn said again.

  There was a bit of movement. The sound of chains dragging across the wooden floor, and a soft, breathy sound, a wheezing that told him Lyle Martin was approaching.

  Finn waited, then looked over to see a thin, older man with gray hair and wide eyes—a wildness in them that Finn had seen in people who were a bit touched.

  This might be a religious matter more than anything else. Maybe that was the reason the priest of Fell was irritated with Finn’s presence. Maybe they didn’t really want Finn here.

  “What did you do?” Finn asked softly.

  The man jerked on the chains again and glared at Finn, the wildness still present in his eyes.

  “Cleanse,” the man said.

  Finn approached him slowly. He took a deep breath, trying to figure out what the smell was.

  “What have they given you?”

  “Medicine,” he said.

  “For what purpose?”

  “Medicine,” he said again.

  Finn still felt like he was getting nowhere with this man.

  And until he had somebody here to help him, Finn wasn’t about to move any closer, even though the man was bound up in chains and shouldn’t be able to escape. Still, he felt he had an obligation to Lyle Martin—one that would only be satisfied by trying to dig into what he had truly done. Finn wasn’t convinced that desecrating the dead was enough of a crime to deserve the sentencing that he had been summoned to the city to provide.

  “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” Finn shook his head. “I understand you felt like you needed to cleanse the dead. I also understand the priest feels you did not. I don’t know who is right and who is wrong, only that I am obligated to—”

  The man darted forward, jerking on the chains again, and his eyes got wide. “You. Cleanse.”

  Finn stared at him.

  “He has been like that since we captured him,” a voice said.

  Finn looked over to see a brown-haired man with a medium build in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. At first, Finn thought he might be another priest, but he wasn’t wearing a robe like the first priest did. What he did have on was a marker for Heleth, a slender band of silver around his neck that surprised Finn given what he’d seen in the village so far.

  “What can you tell me about him?” Finn asked.

  “You must be the hangman we brought in.” He held out his hand, waiting for Finn to take it. “Name is Olanth Roaln.”

  Finn briefly shook the man’s hand, thinking it was more of the greeting he had expected to get when he’d come to Weverth—not the type he’d gotten from the priest.

  “Finn Jagger.”

  “You don’t look much like a hangman,” Olanth said and shrugged, his gaze taking in the sword. “Other than that. Though to be honest, can’t say I know much about what a hangman might look like.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Really? I’m sure you’ve got a few stories. Maybe when all this business is over, we can sit in the tavern—we only have the one—and share a pint.�
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  There had been a time in Finn’s life when such a request would have been welcomed. There was still a part of him that wanted to have friendships, but the job made that difficult. Relationships even more so. Finn had stopped trying to find someone willing to spend their time with an executioner.

  “Maybe,” Finn said, forcing a smile. If Olanth would know something about what happened with this man, then perhaps he could be of some use. “Can you tell me about Lyle?”

  “Not much. He’s lived outside of the village for the better part of my life. Comes in from time to time, makes his trades, buys supplies, then disappears. We don’t see much of him for months at a time. Sometimes seasons.”

  “Where does he live?”

  Olanth waved toward the trees. “Out there. Figure a man lives alone that long, it’s going to drive him a little mad, you know? Can’t say anyone was altogether surprised when he was caught.”

  “Caught doing what?” Finn asked.

  Olanth looked over to Finn. “They didn’t tell you?”

  “I get a summons asking for an executioner in the village. That’s about the extent of what I know. It’s not usually detailed enough for me to know why I’ve been called out of the city.”

  “That don’t bother you?”

  There was the sound of chains inside the home again, a steady rattle that suggested Lyle was attempting to break free once more. If he were using some sort of witchcraft—and that was the only thing Finn could think of to explain what he’d been doing with the bodies—he wouldn’t have that hard of a time breaking free.

  “That’s the job. I serve in Verendal, but as a journeyman, I have to help in places outside of the city when needed. Like Weverth here.”

  “We don’t have much need for executioners normally.” He looked behind him, and it took Finn a moment to realize that he’d turned his attention to the church rising up in the background. “The priests have helped with that.”

  “You celebrate Fell and Heleth?” He nodded to the necklace Olanth wore before looking over to the man inside.

  “We celebrate all the gods in Weverth. Not just the ones that are easy.”

  Finn smiled tightly. “Easy?”

  “The priests teach us that some of the gods are easier to follow than others, but that if we follow all of them, and if we can find a way to appease them, we don’t have to fear their wrath.”